


The Sun

by warriorofculture



Category: SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25396960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorofculture/pseuds/warriorofculture
Summary: Squidward enters a writing contest and finds out a few others are also entering, including a certain spongy neighbour of his
Relationships: SpongeBob SquarePants/Squidward Tentacles
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73





	The Sun

He sat at his desk and gazed at the blank paper lying before him. He picked up a quill, dipped it into the ink well and poised the feather above the paper.

He sighed.

He’d wanted to enter the Bikini Bottom annual writing contest, since the grand prize was a seven-day trip to Atlantis – complete with a guided tour of not only the city, but King Neptune’s palace – as well as a cash prize and the winning submission professionally published in a well-known literary magazine. It wasn’t the music or art career he’d dreamed of, but he’d written a screenplay as well as an entire composition – that he got to conduct, no less – so he was sure it would be nothing to write a short piece for this contest.

His eyes fell on the paper before him.

…At least, he _thought_ it would be nothing.

A loud knocking on the front door startled him out of his thoughts. He stood, crossed the room and opened the door.

“Hi, Squidward!” A little yellow sea sponge greeted cheerfully as he smiled. “Are you entering the Bikini Bottom writing contest?”

Squidward’s lips curled downwards, his expression opposite that of the visitor. “Yes, I am, Spongebob,” he replied. “In fact, you made me lose my inspiration when you knocked on the door.”

“Sorry.” Despite his words, Spongebob didn’t look apologetic. “I bet you have a whole lot written by now, huh? You’re really creative with your words, and I’m sure there’s a great story just bursting off the page.”

Squidward gulped. “I, ah, er, well…”

“Can I see it?” Spongebob leaned forward eagerly.

“No, you can’t.” Squidward crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s, er… secret.”

“Secret?!” Spongebob’s eyes widened.

“Yes, er… no one’s allowed to see it until it’s submitted and wins.”

“Ooh.” Spongebob’s expression was one of awe.

“Hey… how do you know about the contest, anyway?”

“I saw a flyer at the post office.” Spongebob produced a folded piece of paper. “I thought I’d enter the contest. I remembered that you’re really good at writing, so I had a feeling you’d be entering it as well.” He grinned.

Squidward rolled his eyes. Of _course_ Spongebob would enter the contest. He was certain Patrick would also enter, just because his best friend was entering. At the same time, he knew if his two neighbours were his primary competition, he was a shoo-in to win.

“Do you wanna know what I wrote about?” Spongebob waved his paper.

“Not really,” Squidward muttered.

Spongebob unfolded the paper and read from it: “’My Two Best Friends in the Whole Sea.’ That’s the name of my entry.” He looked up at Squidward and smiled again. “I’d thought the best way to write a short story or essay would be to write about what means the most to me.”

“I thought your job means the most to you,” Squidward remarked.

“Well, yeah, but I wanted to write about my best friends this time.”

“…Friends?”

“Yeah. You’re my best friend besides Patrick, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. How could I forget?” Squidward’s tone was flat.

“So I wrote about the two of you, and how you make me happy and—”

“That’s nice,” Squidward interrupted. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my own writing.”

“Okay, good luck in the contest, and I’ll see you in the morning at work.”

Squidward closed the door on the happy, grinning face, not bothering to respond. He knew he’d always see Spongebob at work, no matter what happened the day before. He also knew his neighbour would accompany him to and from work, since they lived next door to each other, and every day, he’d be subjected to the high-pitched giggling and endless optimism from the sea sponge named Spongebob Squarepants.

He shuddered as he returned to his desk. He almost wished he could find some way to get out of work, just so he could have some bit of reprieve from that sunny disposition.

_Sunny…_

He turned to the window, spotting the all-too-familiar pineapple next door. Spongebob was currently skipping to his own front door, only pausing long enough to open the door and head inside. Squidward’s gaze drifted upwards, noting the sky had started turning shades of pink and blue as the sun set.

_The sun…_

He looked back at his paper. He wasn’t the type of person who liked warm weather, but there were the occasional sunny spring days that brought him at least some small measure of happiness… even if it was temporary.

He picked up his pen, dipping the tip into the ink again. He normally would find some way to write about himself – which was his original plan when he’d decided to enter the contest – but he decided to take a different route for once and write about something that brought him happiness. Besides himself, of course.

_“I wrote about the two of you, and how you make me happy.”_

Spongebob’s words drifted into his mind as he started writing. He hadn’t realised he was using the same concept as his neighbour and co-worker, but it _was_ a rather common theme to use when it came to writing.

Come to think of it, Spongebob never really meant any harm when he came over to Squidward’s house. He was just genuinely curious to know if his neighbour was entering the contest. There wasn’t any reason for Squidward to respond the way he did, though it felt like it was instinct more than anything. Why? Spongebob wasn’t doing anything bad or wrong.

Spongebob never intentionally did anything bad or wrong.

He dipped his quill into the ink well as he continued writing, letting his thoughts guide his pen.

* * *

Squidward set down the quill and glanced at the clock on the wall. “Two hours?” he muttered as he rose from the desk. He hadn’t realised he’d been writing that long, though the way his stiff muscles protested as he stretched confirmed the truth. He knew he should get his entry into the mail as soon as possible, but it was late in the evening – the sky was dark now, with stars glittering amongst the sky flowers – and he wanted to proofread his entry before submitting it.

His stomach growled. He’d been so caught up in his writing, he’d forgotten to eat. He left the paper on the desk and headed into the kitchen, knowing he’d check his entry afterwards.

After a hearty, filling dinner, Squidward leaned back on the couch and turned on the TV. Just a little television before checking the entry, he told himself. Nothing wrong with taking one’s mind off the contest for a bit.

He opened his eyes and gazed about him. The television was still on, playing some show he didn’t recognise. He must have dosed off. It was fine, he thought. There was still time before…

His gaze slid to the window. Morning sunshine created a small pool of light on the floor.

His eyes widened in shock. “I slept all night?!” He practically yelled.

As if on cue, a barely muffled foghorn sounded from outside. He recognised the sound as Spongebob’s alarm clock. In roughly half an hour, the sea sponge would be outside, chanting his usual, “I’m ready, I’m ready!” as he took off for work.

Squidward found it hard to breathe. He wouldn’t have time to properly ready himself for the day, especially since he’d neglected to proofread his entry. He knew he should have looked at it instead of watching TV, but there was no changing the past. He was under a tight deadline if he wanted to get to the Krusty Krab on time.

He tossed two slices of bread in the toaster before dashing upstairs. He quickly changed shirts and headed into the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, clearing away the last bits of drowsiness, then scrubbed his toothbrush across his teeth. He heard the toaster popping up his toast and ran back downstairs.

A slathering of seaberry jam on his toast gave him just enough time to glance over the entry before preparing it for mailing. He munched on one of the slices as he checked the words. Spelling, punctuation and grammar all seemed to be in order. He nodded to himself as he carefully looked over the wording and sentence structure.

His eyes widened, the toast in his mouth feeling like a cold, hard lump. He forced a swallow, though his stomach seemed to want to force everything back up. His hands shook as he took in the words written on the paper.

“Did… Did I really write this?” he murmured. If he wasn’t looking right at it and recognising his own handwriting, he would have been sure someone was playing a horrible prank on him.

But no, there was no way.

He really did write every single word.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

“Oh, Squidward~!” A familiar voice called from outside. “Are you ready for work?”

“Oh, shrimp,” he muttered, his face burning.

More knocking.

“Squidward?” The voice’s tone turned concerned.

“U- Uh, just a minute,” Squidward called.

He glanced down at the paper and cringed. The deadline to mail the entries was today; there was no time to write anything else. But could he really send _this_ off? Could he sacrifice the trip to Atlantis and the chance to be catapulted to fame?

“We’re gonna be late, Squidward,” the voice reminded him. “Mr Krabs isn’t going to be happy.”

There was no time to think about it.

He grabbed an envelope and a stamp.

* * *

“Here’s today’s mail,” Norton the mailfish said as he handed a stack of envelopes to Spongebob.

“Thanks, Norton!” The fry cook grinned as he accepted the mail.

“Got anything going out?”

“Yeah, hang on.” Spongebob trotted to his boss’ office. He knocked on the door and entered when he was beckoned to do so.

Squidward remained at his post at the register boat. Norton glanced around the restaurant, patiently waiting for the outgoing mail.

“S… So…” Squidward casually began.

Norton directed his attention to the cashier. “Yes?”

“Do you accept personal mail from a business?”

Norton shrugged. “As long as it’s properly addressed and stamped, I’ll take it.”

Squidward tried to hide his nervousness as he held out an envelope. “Th- Then… could you take this? I didn’t have time to take it to the post office this morning.”

“Sure.” Norton smiled as he accepted the envelope. He glanced over the address and stamp. “Hm, so you’re entering the Bikini Bottom writing contest?”

“Er, yeah, I—”

The door to Mr Krabs’ office burst open, revealing Spongebob. “Sorry for the delay!” He waved a few envelopes. “Mr Krabs hadn’t addressed them when I came in, so I helped him.”

“It’s alright,” Norton assured him. “Say… are you entering the writing contest?”

“I sure am!” Spongebob pulled out an envelope from his back pocket. “I forgot to drop it off this morning; can I give it to you?”

“Of course.” Norton smiled again. “I’ve got Squidward’s entry here, too.”

“Really?” Spongebob looked excited.

“Yeah, and I’ve entered as well.” Norton set the envelopes in his mail bag. “Good luck to all of us.”

“Thanks, and good luck to you, too!” Spongebob grinned and waved as the mailfish exited the restaurant.

Squidward watched Norton’s retreating back and felt anxiety creeping up his spine. It was probably the first time he hoped he _wouldn’t_ win the contest, despite his strong desire to win.

* * *

The next week passed peacefully enough, with Squidward able to push his thoughts regarding the contest out of his mind. He knew he wrote better than anyone else in town, and if the judges didn’t let him win, well, they didn’t have good taste.

That afternoon, he opened the front door, having heard the polite knocking of the mailfish just moments before.

“Here’s the mail, Squidward,” Norton said as he handed the octopus some letters and a magazine.

“Thanks,” Squidward mumbled.

“By the way, I couldn’t help but notice your subscription to _Interpretive Dance Quarterly_ is about to expire,” Norton commented. “Are you going to renew it?”

“Of course.” Squidward hiked an eyebrow. “Are you going through my mail?”

“No, but it’s hard to miss it.” Norton pointed to the magazine in Squidward’s hands. It was wrapped in a plastic bag and had a reminder card lying on top of the cover, stating in big bold letters that his subscription was nearing its expiration.

Squidward blinked. “…Oh.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow!” Norton whistled to himself as he strolled away from Squidward’s house.

The octopus flipped through the rest of his mail, his gaze resting on the last envelope. The return address was the same as the one he’d sent his writing entry just a week ago.

_No…_

He opened the envelope, took out the letter and read it.

“No…” he whispered.

“Hey, Squidward!” Spongebob stood just outside his house. He waved as he trotted to the mailbox.

Squidward was frozen to the spot, unable to take his eyes off the letter.

“Didja get anything interesting in the mail?” Spongebob asked, extracting his own mail from his mailbox.

Silence.

“Squidward?” Spongebob stepped closer to his neighbour’s yard, a look of concern on his face.

“Uh… Uh… E- Everything’s fine, just fine.” Without waiting for a response, Squidward rushed inside his house, slamming the door closed and tossing his mail on the floor.

He leaned against the door, catching his breath and hoping against hope Spongebob hadn’t seen the blush rising in his face. His heart pounded in his chest. How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly?

“It’s this stupid letter,” he grumbled, glaring at the mess of envelopes at his feet. He stooped to pick up the only one he’d opened, re-reading the words printed on its surface:

_Dear Squidward Tentacles,_

_After reading your submission, we have unanimously decided your entry is the winner. Congratulations! You and a guest will spend a seven-day, all expenses paid trip to Atlantis, which includes a tour of the city and King Neptune’s royal palace. You will receive the tickets in the mail in three to four weeks, along with a cheque with your prize money._

_Your entry will be published in_ National Professional Writers Monthly _, the most prestigious literary magazine in Bikini Bottom, New Kelp City and many other towns. We will send you a complimentary copy before the issue is released to the newsstands. We will also be in touch with you soon for an interview._

After he read the second paragraph, he found it hard to make out the words. His vision swam with tears, and he blinked them away.

Why?

Why did he have to win?

Well, he knew _why_ he’d wanted to win, since he wanted to take the trip to Atlantis and get the money and potential for widespread fame, but…

But…

There was always that “but”.

Sighing, he realised there was a second paper behind the letter. He set the letter on a nearby end table and read the new sheet.

It was a printed copy of his entry.

The words sent his heart slamming in his chest again, and his throat constricted.

Why?

Why, why, why?

He set the second paper with the letter and trudged over to the couch. He flopped onto it facedown and heaved a loud sigh. It seemed all he ever did was sigh… But what did it matter?

What did anything matter?

The whole town would soon learn of his entry, along with everyone in many other cities as well. He’d be a laughingstock, forced to move far, far away from anyone he ever knew. His life was over.

* * *

The front door slowly opened, and a yellow head poked around it as an azure eye gazed at the still form in the living room. He knew he was overstepping his boundaries, but judging from his neighbour’s actions, as well as the mail strewn about the floor before him, there was something very wrong.

He knew he had to help.

He quietly entered the house, closing the door behind him.

_Click._

“Go away, Spongebob,” the form on the couch mumbled.

“I won’t go away.”

Squidward turned his head in Spongebob’s direction. That wasn’t something his neighbour would normally say.

“Wh… What?”

“I said, I won’t go away.” Spongebob clenched his hands into fists and wore a determined look. “There’s something wrong, Squidward, and I’m not leaving until I find out what it is and make things right.”

Squidward returned to his facedown position. “It’s nothing,” he muttered into the cushions.

“I know it’s not ‘nothing’, Squidward. Don’t lie to me.”

A sigh. He knew it was unavoidable, but why did it have to be now?

“Alright, fine. It’s on the table by the door.”

Spongebob turned to look at the table, his gaze falling on the two pieces of paper. “A letter? Can I read it?”

“Sure, why not,” came the muffled response. “My life is over, anyway.”

Spongebob tried to not think about that last statement as he read the letter. His eyes widened. “You… You won the writing contest?” He looked up at his neighbour and smiled. “Congratulations, Squidward!”

The octopus didn’t move. “Yeah, great,” he muttered.

Spongebob hiked an eyebrow. Squidward usually would be celebrating a success like this, gloating about it for days and rubbing it in everyone’s face. However, he was lying face down on his couch, acting like the world was ending. Why?

He returned his attention to the letter, noticing the second page. He set the letter back on the table as he read Squidward’s entry.

_The Sun  
By Squidward Q Tentacles_

_I once shunned the sun, hated the warmth and welcoming embrace. Its presence filled me with dread, dimming the light in my life. Anytime the sun rose, I wanted to hide in the cold darkness and enjoyed the solitude. But I have seen the truth and know there is no reason to turn away. The sun has awakened me, filled me with its warmth. Its smiling face is a constant in my life, one I can’t live without. It stays with me throughout the day, its light a welcome beacon in my darkness. I have things that make me happy, but the sun has shone on me, bringing me a different kind of happiness, one I never thought I’d experience._

_The sun has its own joys, its own happiness. It shines its light on everyone it sees, gives others its warmth and care. But the sun seems to have a special kind of warmth and light, just for me. And where I once turned away, I now spread my arms wide and welcome the light. The sun has inspired me to spread my own light to others, to become someone better than I have ever been._

_I know the sun is not aware of this change and growth within me, and it continues to shine its light anywhere it goes. I want to talk to it, tell it everything and anything. But it only continues to spread its warmth, not knowing how much it has affected me. If I had the chance to speak to the sun, I would give it my own special, warm smile and say, “Thank you.”_

Silence filled the room for several long minutes. Squidward knew his writing wasn’t long enough to justify the amount of quiet, and he hadn’t heard Spongebob’s footsteps leaving. Why was he not saying anything?

“This is really beautiful, Squidward,” the sea sponge finally remarked. “No wonder you won the contest; it’s much better than my entry.”

“…Thanks.”

“It almost sounds like you’re talking about someone when mentioning the sun,” Spongebob continued. “Did you write about yourself again?”

“No.”

Spongebob was unable to respond right away. He knew Squidward loved himself more than anyone else, so it was a given he’d write about himself. Yet he just said he didn’t…? Who could have inspired such a lovely piece of writing?

He gazed at the words again. The person being described seemed to bring him so much warmth into his life, so much joy… but it wasn’t Squidward. He thought he knew everything about his neighbour and co-worker, yet this bit of writing proved there was something hidden deep within him that he kept from everyone.

Or…

“Oh, I get it.” Spongebob raised his head to look at Squidward. “This is fiction, isn’t it? You’ve written about an imaginary character who really likes someone… they may be in love with that person, too.”

Squidward felt a sharp pang in his chest. _Love?_ Was that… Was that…

“I bet that’s it, isn’t it?” Spongebob guessed, oblivious to Squidward’s inner turmoil. “You wrote a fictional story and didn’t expect it to win.” He read over the entry again.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“No,” he murmured.

Spongebob’s head shot up. “…No?”

“No.”

“Th- Then… this is real?” He held up the paper.

“…Yes.”

“Oh! It’s about someone else, right?” Spongebob felt his relief wash over him. “You wrote about a friend, or someone you know, or…”

“Me.”

The relief turned to cold fear. “Y… You?”

“Me.”

Spongebob glanced at the paper yet again. “B- But… this isn’t like you at all, Squidward. How can it possibly be about you?”

“Because it is.” Squidward moved his head again, this time to glare at the sea sponge. “I’m done answering your questions, Spongebob, now please leave.”

“No.” Spongebob returned the octopus’ glare. “This whole thing is a big mystery, and I’m not leaving until everything’s cleared up and you’re back to normal.”

_Normal…_

Squidward turned his head away so Spongebob wouldn’t see the tears that returned. “Things will never be normal again,” he murmured into the couch.

“Why?” Spongebob held out the paper. “Is it because of this?”

No answer.

“Squidward, please answer me.” Spongebob stepped over the letters on the floor and moved closer to the couch. “You claim this writing is about you, but according to what you’ve written, it sounds like you’re in love with someone. The only person I know you love is yourself, and it would never put you in this state.” He gestured to the prone figure before him. “So please, _please_ , tell me the truth about this contest entry. I promise I won’t laugh or make fun of you, and I promise to keep it a secret between us. Please, Squidward.”

Silence filled the room once again. For a moment, Spongebob thought Squidward had fallen asleep, but considering what they’d discussed, there was no way he’d be able to doze off that quickly or willingly. The sea sponge waited near the couch for a response, not caring how long he’d have to stay there.

Finally, Squidward let out a sigh. Spongebob stayed quiet.

“Alright, I’ll tell you. You’ll find out soon enough anyway. But you better keep your promise to not tell anyone else.”

“You have my word, Squidward. This will stay between the two of us as long as you want.”

Another sigh. “I… In that entry… I was talking about someone when referencing the sun.” Squidward’s words were slow, hesitant, forced. He kept still, his facedown view of the couch keeping him from meeting his neighbour’s gaze.

“I figured,” Spongebob replied. “Who is it?”

Silence.

Again, Spongebob waited.

After what felt like an eternity, Squidward only said one word. It was a word Spongebob had never expected to hear in his entire life.

“…You.”

Spongebob’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open. He was sure he didn’t hear that right.

“Wh… What?”

More silence.

“Th… That can’t be right.” Spongebob let out a weak laugh. “You… You’re joking, right? Or- Or I’m just hearing things. Th- That’s it, isn’t it? You wanted to pull a little prank on me. Ha-ha, that’s a good one, you got me.”

“Am I the joking type, Spongebob?” Squidward finally lifted his head. “Do you really think I would go through all of this, and write this… this _thing_ ,” he gestured to the paper in Spongebob’s hand, “just to pull a joke on _you_?”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Spongebob slowly lifted his arm, which now felt like a lead weight, and raised the paper to his eyes to read the entry once again. Thinking on it, he realised it was far too easy to put parallels between himself and the sun. If it didn’t have Squidward’s own name on it, he would’ve thought someone else wrote it.

“But I don’t understand,” he continued. “Why… Why did you write about me? I- I mean, why did you write _this_ about me?”

Squidward pushed himself up to a sitting position. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his gaze on the floor.

“You don’t know?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Last week when you came over to see what I was writing… I hadn’t written a thing. After you left, I let my pen do the writing, my thoughts guiding my hand. You see the finished result.”

“Then how do you know it’s about me?”

“You can see for yourself.” Squidward only lifted an arm to point to the paper. “You’re the only one I’ve admitted to hating, despite how happy and cheerful you usually act. I have to see you a lot every day, from the walk to work, to our entire shift at the Krusty Krab, to the walk back home. I only get a reprieve from you when you’re at boating school since you frequently come here on our days off.”

Spongebob nodded his agreement. Out of the people Squidward saw on a regular basis, Spongebob was the only one who fit the description given in the writing. There was no one else. But the rest of the entry made no sense, as it really did sound like…

“W- Wait.” Spongebob regarded the octopus before him. “You’re saying you wrote about me, but… but this…” He held out the paper.

“I _said_ , I don’t know.” Squidward snatched the paper and angrily crumpled it into a ball. “Why did I have to write this stupid thing?” he muttered, tossing the ball over his shoulder.

Spongebob circled behind the couch and picked up the paper, taking a moment to uncurl it and smooth out the wrinkles. “It might be your subconscious trying to tell you something,” he replied softly, running his hand across the surface of the paper.

“S- Subconscious?”

“Yeah, Sandy told me about it one time.” Spongebob gazed at the paper once again. “It’s a deep part of your mind where you put your innermost thoughts. Sometimes thoughts get put there that you never realised you had, and it comes out when you least expect it, like this.” He straightened up. “I’ll admit it sounds pretty crazy, but it might be the best answer we have.”

He walked back around the couch to face his neighbour and was shocked to see tears streaming down his face. “Squidward…?”

The octopus shook his head again before burying his face in his hands. “I- I just… d- don’t understand,” he mumbled.

Spongebob hesitated, wanting to console Squidward but knowing the latter didn’t like unwanted physical contact, especially if it came from him. He glanced at the paper and knew what he had to do.

His next words came out gently. “Squidward… maybe this is your subconscious telling you to start things over again.” He leaned forward and placed a hand on his neighbour’s shoulder. “Or, more specifically, start things over with _me_ again. You really shouldn’t dismiss this, as it is your own words, even if it came from your subconscious.”

Squidward sniffed and raised his head. “R… Really?”

“Really.” Spongebob removed his hand and gave him an encouraging smile. “You never know what may happen, and there’s no harm in trying. Besides, I’m willing to start over with you as well.”

Squidward used the back of his hand to wipe away his tears. He’d never expected Spongebob to take the whole thing so calmly, but then again, he’d not even expected to write such an emotional piece about the person he’d once considered the bane of his existence. Perhaps his subconscious had grown tired of all the hatred and negativity, and truly wanted to start things over with his neighbour and co-worker. Spongebob wasn’t a bad person, after all; he had good intentions with everything he did.

He took a deep breath. “Al… Alright, I’ll… start things over with you.”

Spongebob smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, Squidward. I’m very glad to hear that.”

Squidward looked down at the wrinkled paper still in Spongebob’s hand. “By the way…”

“Hm?”

“What do you think about what I wrote?” He nodded towards the paper.

“I told you already, it’s a very beautifully-written piece. Since it’s from you, I expected no less.”

“No, I mean… since you know it’s about you.”

“O- Oh.” Spongebob’s gaze drifted to the paper as his cheeks coloured. “I hadn’t thought about it too much, since I was focused on trying to help you.”

“Well, we’ve got that out of the way, so you have time to think about it.”

“R- Right.” Spongebob used his free hand to rub his other arm.

“Well?” Squidward prompted after several moments of silence.

“W- Well… To be honest, I liked it.” Spongebob continued to avoid Squidward’s gaze.

“That’s it?”

“Er, um… I- I liked it a lot. I didn’t know who you were talking about at first, but when you said it was me… I was shocked, of course, but I was also incredibly happy.”

“Happy?” Squidward raised an eyebrow.

“Y- Yeah. I’ve always admired you, Squidward, and hoped someday you’d want to be my friend.”

“But haven’t you said I’m your best friend besides Patrick?”

“Yes, but that’s how I view you. You never thought of me that way, although I really wanted it to happen.”

Squidward blinked. He’d always thought Spongebob was blindly optimistic about everything and just assumed Squidward also viewed him as a “best friend” despite the octopus’ statements to the contrary.

“Well… maybe it will finally happen,” he replied.

“Really?” Spongebob looked up at him hopefully.

“Who knows?” Squidward shrugged. “There’s no telling where any of this will go.”

“Do you think… it’ll be like you’ve written?” Spongebob held out the paper to him.

Squidward stared at the paper for a moment, not comprehending. At last, Spongebob’s earlier words came back to him:

_“You’ve written about a character who really likes someone… they may be in love with that person, too.”_

He felt heat rising in his face, realising what Spongebob meant. “U- Um… I’m not sure,” he answered.

Spongebob gazed at him evenly, not saying a word.

Squidward blew out a sigh. “Alright, alright, I’ll be honest.” He paused, taking the paper from Spongebob. “…Probably.”

“Really?”

Oddly enough, Spongebob’s voice wasn’t excited, merely curious. Squidward read over his contest entry, the one that netted him a big prize and started this whole mess. He lowered the paper and saw Spongebob watching him, patiently waiting for an answer.

It felt as though his heart was pounding in his throat.

“…Yes, really,” he managed to reply.

Spongebob’s eyes widened. “That… That would be great,” he said softly.

Squidward set the paper beside him on the couch and glanced at the end table by the front door. His congratulatory letter still rested on it, reminding him of his prizes.

He returned his attention to Spongebob. “In fact… one of the prizes for winning the contest is a week-long trip to Atlantis.”

Spongebob’s look of wonder vanished, replaced by curiosity. “I remember reading that, but…”

“The letter I received mentioned ‘you _and a guest_ ’ will spend a week in Atlantis.”

Spongebob gasped. “Y- You don’t mean…”

Squidward shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Well, I don’t have anyone planned to accompany me, so I _suppose_ —”

“Oh, thank you, Squidward!” Spongebob leapt into his arms and hugged him.

Squidward wound his arms around the sea sponge, feeling the warmth against his body. He looked down at Spongebob, smiled at his little sun and said, “Thank _you_.”


End file.
